


Five Conversations

by nwhepcat



Series: Auld Lang Syne 'verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwhepcat/pseuds/nwhepcat
Summary: Two days after Sunnydale Calling. 1. Quality. 2. Mama mia. 3. Existential horseshit. 4. The doomsday cult next door. 5. Loser Filter. A little UST here, a little closure there.
Relationships: Xander Harris/Faith Lehane
Series: Auld Lang Syne 'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196072
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Five Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers, if any, through "Storyteller," Season 7, then off into AU. _Angel_ Faith never happened.  
> Again, this is one of the first Buffy fics I wrote, a follow-up to Sunnydale Calling.

Xander wanted to be left alone.

He'd been glad to get out of the hospital, but the homecoming was exhausting. He wished there were some kind of halfway house he could go to, some transition from the extreme lack of privacy in Sunnydale General to the extreme lack of privacy at Camp Scooby. There'd been a certain amount of shifting around so Faith could sleep by him and take care of anything he needed (well, except for _that_ ), but it still felt too much like living in a dorm. He was half looking forward to the apocalypse. When it was over, they'd either be dead or they could scatter and live on their own turf again. Either outcome was equally appealing, at least in his antsier moments. 

When Faith came in with the potentials for lunch, she picked up immediately on his claustrophobia. She scrounged around the basement until she found a couple of aluminum chaises longues and set Xander up in one of them in a sunny spot on the front lawn. After she made sure he had his iPod and plenty to read, she brought out two sandwiches and Cokes and parked herself in the other chair. Except her bare foot, which wandered over to his seat, to wedge itself beneath his uninjured thigh. "Comfortable?" 

"Yeah, this is better. Thanks." 

"Aw, here comes that disgusting motherfucker from next door to wash his car again. Likes stroking his substitute dick any chance he gets. Pervert." 

Xander glanced over. It wasn't the guy who'd lived there most of the seven years he'd been coming over to Buffy's, but he couldn't say when this one had moved in. Had he missed noticing a For Sale sign planted in the yard for months? Or had it been much quieter than that, just a process of Mrs. Neighbor ( _what was her name, anyway_?) getting a trade-in on the old husband? "Why's he a pervert?" 

"Check the way he's looking at me. Does that to the potentials, too." She gave him a _yoo-hoo neighbor_ wave. "Quality vehicle you've got there," she called out, adding under her breath, " _dick_." 

Xander shot her a look. "Quality?" 

"Where I come from, that's an insult." 

"I look forward to many years of trying to figure you out. If we don't all die later this week." 

"Fuck the figuring." She shifted her foot, causing Xander to suck in his breath. "Figure on some fucking." Faith withdrew her foot as Dawn called out to her from the front door. "Damn. Back to the training. Anything you need first?" 

"You, this minute, would be nice. Otherwise, I guess I'm good." 

"We'll think of something." She rose and bent over him, touching his face, then leaning in closer for a kiss. Then she gathered up the plates and empty Coke cans and headed in. 

Xander put in the ear buds and fired up his iPod, and promptly fell asleep. No telling how much time had passed before a shadow crossed over him and he awoke. He raised his arm to throw a little shade and squinted into the bright sunlight. 

"I brought you some fresh, um, thawed lemonade." Andrew offered a tall glass. He was holding two, which Xander didn't consider a good sign. 

Resigned, he took the lemonade; Andrew interpreted this as an invitation to sit. He perched sideways on the chaise, knees pressed together. "Bet you're glad to be out of the hospital." 

"Yeah. Unbelievably tired, though." _Please take a hint, please take a hint, please take a hint._

"Sure. It really takes it out of a person." Andrew daintily reached into his own glass and picked out a piece of pulp, flicked it on the grass. "Did Spike bring you the --" 

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Thanks a lot for sending them." Xander added a silent thanks to the gods for sparing him from the Def Con 4 geekdom that enveloped Andrew. Well -- that wasn't entirely accurate. Xander admitted the possibility that he was every bit the geek Andrew was, but he was grateful for the powerful sense of self-preservation that had kept it somewhat under wraps, especially through school. 

"What'd you think of the whole Wonder Woman makeover? Wasn't that outrageous?" 

Ah, crap. He'd forgotten to even look at them. When he'd been discharged, he'd handed them off to a nurse and told her to give them to some lonely kid. He decided to channel Faith. "Holy shit. She looks really hot." Inevitably that led him to what had come after, and Xander couldn't keep a wicked grin off his face. 

"Tell me about it." Andrew rolled his eyes. " _Mama mia_. Anyhow, I used to get comic books whenever I was in the hospital. It gets so boring there, I know, so I thought --" 

_Whenever?_ "They were great, perfect. You were in the hospital a lot?" 

"Oh yeah." Completely matter-of-fact, as if the question had been _Did you see_ Attack of the Clones _at the first night, midnight showing?_ "I was pretty sickly as a kid. They never figured out what it was, but I just got over it -- a few years ago now." 

"That's really lousy." 

"Yeah..." He stared off into the distance. "But in a way it wasn't so bad. My mother was _fantastico_. She did everything she could to keep me cheered up when I was sick. She got kind of a glow. It was amazing, how she pulled it out of herself. Most of the time --" He shrugged one shoulder. "I guess you could say she was depressed the rest of the time. But when I needed her, Mom was like a different person, all sunny and energetic." 

Jesus Christ. Xander did not want to be suspecting what he was suspecting, but it was too late. Like those hidden-picture puzzles they put in kids' magazines, once he'd seen the tiger in this particular flower patch, there was no way of not seeing it. 

"Here I go yammering on and on," Andrew said. "I'll go back in and let you rest." 

Yeah, rest. Fat chance. Some fucking world. Maybe it didn't deserve saving. 

"Thanks for the lemonade, Andrew. Really hit the spot." 

He went back to the iPod, but all the songs seemed unbearably depressing. Why did he listen to this indie crap? It felt like standing in the cafeteria line behind a pretty girl and suddenly noticing the row of fine cut marks on her forearms. He wrenched iPod off and dropped it onto the magazines lying on the grass. He wasn't interested in any of them; the music was too dark, but the magazines were too full of fluff. Xander let the afternoon sun lull him into torpor and idly watched the neighbor wash his car. Wasn't quite the same, after hearing Faith's take on his efforts. 

Xander's mood was still black when Dawn came out to see if he needed anything. "Just some company," he said. "Why aren't you in school?" 

"Some teacher training thing. Or something. Buffy had to be at it too, whatever it is." She shifted from foot to foot. "Would it hurt you if I gave you a hug?" 

"Sounds like the best thing for me. Careful, though. Chair's a little tippy." It was awkward, but they accomplished it, and his spirits were buoyed a bit. 

"God, I'm so glad you're home." She broke the embrace and pulled the other chair up closer, sat cross-legged on it. "I wanted to come see you in the hospital, but they said the first couple of days you were pretty out of it." 

"Yeah. Then suddenly, _wham_ , big difference. I didn't think I'd heal that fast. Surprised the doctors, too." 

"I bet it was the transfusions. Slayer blood." 

"What do you mean?" 

"It was Faith's idea, that maybe you'd get better faster if she and Buffy did that directed blood donation thing. Well, they're not the only ones -- Willow, Anya and Andrew too. And Kennedy. She's the only one of the potentials old enough to donate. Same story with me, I'm a couple of months too young. Anyway, I think Faith was right, it was the Slayer blood." 

So did he. He wondered if Faith would ever cease to surprise him. 

A sob burst forth from Dawn, startling in its suddenness. "I was so scared." 

He reached for her hand, enclosed it in both his. "It's okay now. I'm fine, I'm not going anywhere." _Nowhere they weren't all going, anyway._

She gently brushed her fingers over the yellowing bruise on the back of his hand, where one of the IV lines had run, and cried harder. 

"Dawnie, I'm all right now, it's okay." 

"I know. But I guess I'm still scared." She savagely rubbed at her tears. "Partly because I love you, you're the best big brother anyone could have, Xander." 

That brought up a whole world of mixed feelings. It was just about the highest honor he could think of; on the other hand, it meant he'd passed forever out of the realm of crush material, which made him a tiny bit sad. 

"But the rest of it is totally selfish, I know that." She snuffled wetly and then pulled the hem of her shirt up to wipe at her nose. 

"Tell me, honey. It can't be that bad." 

"I can't help thinking... Maybe when each person I love..." She sobbed a moment, then got herself under control. "When they die. Maybe there's just that much less of me. When they're all gone --" She dissolved then into great whooping sobs that broke Xander's heart. 

He shifted to the edge of his chair and gathered her into his arms. "No, no, shhh, Dawnie, that's just crazy." 

After a while, she said against his chest, "I'm not really real. I'm just memories that were put in people's heads. Mom's already gone, and Tara -- once everyone else is gone, I might be too." 

Time for the shock treatment. He pushed away from her, gripping her by the shoulders. "That's just a bullshit." Her eyes widened; good. Judicious swear words from a grownup often worked as well as an argument. "You're as real as anyone, you just got here a different way, that's all. Plus, lookit, these last few years after Glory, you've made friends, made memories with all kinds of new people. We're not the only ones who you're part of now." 

"I guess --" 

"Damn right." He brushed her hair back from her face. 

"But -- if the monks could put fake memories in all of you guys, they could just as easily erase the real ones everyone else has." 

Xander suppressed a sigh. No one could obsess and _what if_ like a teenager. Though Dawn, he had to admit, had some legitimate reasons. "Why would they want to? If they were going to just zap you out of existence, they would've done it right after we kicked Glory's ass, right?" 

"Well--" 

"I think you're just stuck with the world, same as the world is stuck with you. Forget the existential horseshit and eat some Pocky with me." He reached under the chair for the two boxes he'd brought outside. "This is how it's done. One stick of strawberry, one of chocolate, and you eat them at the same time. _Voila_ , chocolate-covered strawberry." 

After a while, Willow called Dawn to the phone to talk to a boy, and Xander was on his own again. This lying around doing nothing was taking a lot out of him. He drifted into sleep again. Next time he woke up, he flashed awake like Faith, yanked out of sleep by an unfamiliar voice. 

The next-door neighbor stood over him, holding a couple sweaty beer bottles. "Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you were actually asleep." 

"S'alright." Xander shifted in the chair. 

"Beer?" He offered one of the bottles. 

"No thanks. Can't right now." They'd stepped down the pain meds from the serious stuff, but he still shouldn't drink alcohol. 

"How's it going?" 

"Not bad." 

"The wife and I noticed you with the crutches. Hope it's nothing too serious. Oh." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Randy." 

"So I've heard. Xander." 

"So. It seemed pretty quiet over here when we first looked at the house. You've got a lot of kids living over here, though. Girls." 

"Yes. The lambs." 

"Huh?" 

"God's lambs. It's kind of a youth group. Religious thing, y'know." Xander reached for his crutches. "I've got some literature inside the house, let me get you some." 

"Oh no, hey, don't get up on my account." He took a swig of his beer, then abruptly lowered the bottle. "Oh. I get it. Sorry. No offense." He nodded vacuously, starting to look like one of those bobble-headed dogs people used to put on their dashboards. "I thought I heard some hymns from over there. Huh." 

"That would be Sister Faith. She's our music minister." 

More head bouncing. "Uh huh. I see. So, uh, what's going on out in the back yard? Some kinda training?" 

"Martial arts class. We believe that God wants us to be strong in body as well as spirit. For the things to come." 

"Ah." Nod. Nod. Nod. "Is this going to be going on long? Cause, you know, we didn't really realize, when we bought the place..." 

"No, I don't think it's going to be that much longer." Xander waited for the look of relief, the slight warming in Randy's manner. "Just till the apocalypse. Sometime in the next few weeks, if the calculations are correct." 

"Oh, ah, really?" Randy shifted his weight, readying for the quick break. 

"Absolutely. Or at least we're pretty sure. It's all in the writings of the prophets, Elder Jones and Elder Strummer." _Going a little too far with this? Nah...._ "For lo, the ice age shall come upon the earth once more, and the sun zoometh in. And the shadow of nuclear meltdown shall fall across the land, and the stores of wheat shall thin. And verily, the works of man, his engines and machines, shall cease. Yet I shall fear not, for yea--" 

"Oh hey listen. I just remembered I left something. On the stove." 

"Sure thing. Stop by anytime, Brother Randy." Okay, Xander was one sick fuck. He'd kind of hoped his near-death experience might erase a little of the mean streak, but it seemed he was out of luck. Official now: Xander was going to Hell. But since since Hell had set up the first We Deliver franchise in Sunnydale ( _30 minutes or it's free_ ), he couldn't get too worked up. He reached for his crutches, wondering exactly how he was going to maneuver himself out of the low-slung lawn chair, when he caught sight of Buffy walking up Revello. 

It made him glad to see her step up her speed when she spotted him. Things weren't completely settled between them yet. They'd had no time alone last night, so an awkward hug balancing on his crutches had to stand in for a conversation. So now they could -- well, he hoped she'd want to talk. For all he knew she'd just speed on past him, into the house. It was as much as he deserved, he supposed. 

But no, she walked right up to his chair, and stopped. "Was that Creepy Next-Door Guy I just saw with you?" 

"None other." 

"What the hell did he want?" 

"Just being a nice neighbor. Expressing his get-well wishes. Discreetly trying find out what the fuck happened to his nice quiet neighborhood he thought he was moving into. I put his mind at ease." 

"Uh-huh," she said dubiously. "What'd you say?" 

"I said we're a doomsday cult, and we'll be gone soon." 

Buffy grinned. "I like. So I guess you're feeling more like yourself." 

"I'm always feeling myself. Some days that's better than others." Cute, yeah. He could let this conversation veer off into Banter Land and go on as if everything was okay between them, or he could make sure that it was. "Sit down a few minutes?" 

"Oh. Sure." She dropped onto the chaise. "I was never not gonna sit, I just meant to ask if you needed something first." 

"All I need is to sit with you. So did Spike tell you we talked the other day?" 

"He did. Though pretty much all he said was he thought you'd be wanting to talk to me soon, and he hoped I'd listen." She reached for his hand, fingering the hospital ID bracelet, which he hadn't gotten around to cutting off yet. "Can't believe he thought he needed to say that." 

"Well." Xander fixed his eyes on the bracelet. ALEXANDER LAVELLE HARRIS in fuzzy black type. No secrets in the hospital: bare asses or middle names. "He knows you were -- that I hurt you pretty bad." Then all of a sudden all four of their hands were knotted together. He kept his gaze there. "It was never about the fight, though. Like I told Spike, I figured we'd be having that argument until we were too old to know our own names." He breathed, trying to find a space in his throat to squeeze the next words through. 

"I'm listening," Buffy whispered. 

"I almost died. I was dying, and I knew it." He had to stop for a moment. "They had me in the OR, and I saw you. I -- _thought_ I saw you." Xander held fast to her hands. "Has Spike told you that the First can be you? Since you've died?" 

"Oh God. I knew Spike had seen -- but he's --" 

"Crazy? Buffy, we've all been crazy at some point." 

He heard her ragged breath, knew she was close to tears. "What did it say to you?" 

"That I probably wouldn't make it, but -- you --" He shook his head. "She -- it -- said I'd always been a disappointment. That this --" he gestured at his leg -- "was -- ah, fuck it. There's no good reason to bring this all up. It wasn't you, and I know now that it wasn't you." 

"Sometimes I think the thing we know how to do best -- all of us, I mean, you, me, the whole Scooby gang -- is keep secrets from each other. Does it _ever_ do any of us any good? Can you think of a single time? 'Cause I sure as hell can't." She lifted a hand to touch his face. "Look at me. Tell me. Trust me." 

Xander raised his head. "It said this -- getting myself killed -- was the worst in a long line of fuck-ups. That was all; they put me under for the surgery then." 

"How could you believe I'd say something like that?" 

He looked away again. Randy was back out in his yard, checking out the scene. He and Buffy, heads bowed, hands still clasped together -- probably looked like they were having a prayer meeting over here. "Well, when the blood is geysering out of your leg, there's not a lot left to feed the brain." 

"God, Xander, don't you know how _much_ I rely on you? Or have I made that a giant state secret too? Don't answer, I already know." 

He did meet her gaze then "Buffy, I didn't tell you to make you feel -- I wanted you to understand why I refused to see you. That's what it takes, something that extreme." 

She nodded. "Okay. But I have my list of things I want you to know. Biggest one: how grateful I am that you're so strong, that you faced that fucking thing down, and you won." 

One sharp laugh escaped him. "I was flat on my back. And a second later I was unconscious." 

"It wanted you to die, Xander. It thought it had you. You were stronger than it, even when you were close to bleeding to death. I want you to remember that for the rest of your life, because if you're tough enough to beat that, enough to stop dying and fight your way back, there's not much that can stop you. Promise me you'll remember." 

"Yeah, okay." 

Buffy swatted his good leg. "Stop it!" 

"Hey! _What?_ " 

"Stop running everything I say through your Loser Filter. Why is it the First can tell you you're worthless and _that_ sinks in, but when I talk about your strengths, _ppffftt!_ it all evaporates before it penetrates your skull?" 

"What about that rousing speech you gave the troops? About how none of us pulled our weight? Was that the First?" 

"No." She looked down at her hands, now disengaged from his. "No." She met his eyes again. "That was Scared-Shitless Buffy. But sometimes she does just as much damage as the First. So I'm telling you now, as merely Baseline-Level-Scared Buffy, that I couldn't do this without you. I wouldn't _be_ here without you. You know that's true -- twice over. So hear it, accept it, _deal_. Got it?" 

Xander smiled. "Got it." 

"Good. Then what do you say we get inside out of eyeball range of Mr. Gladys Kravitz over there?" She gathered up his stuff and helped him to his feet, then handed him the crutches. 

As he struggled up the porch steps, the hum of the house began to envelop him. The sound of Andrew and some of the girls teasing, bullshitting. Clatter of dice and game pieces from a board game. Yammering TV newscasters. The sharp staccato of Faith's blade on butcher block -- so distinctive from the tentative knife work of anyone else -- falling into the rhythm that meant she was mere breaths away from raising her voice in song. 

An ache began to pulse in his injured leg. Xander paused after he reached the doorstep, buffeted by the racket from inside. Sounded like a slumber party. Sounded like chaos. 

Oddly enough, it sounded like home.


End file.
